Eleven O'Clock
by aprilhope
Summary: Brian's mental commentary after Justin leaves him with his "11 o'clock" trick at the end of 309.


Eleven O'Clock  
by AHS

He's hot, I guess.  
Looks a _little_ like Luke Wilson, if I squint my eyes. Or maybe shut my eyes.  
Looks kind of dumb, too.  
Looks like he thinks I should be as excited for what's about to happen as he is.  
I'll fuck that delusion right off his face.  
Disrespecting my…… Justin?  
Not winning you any points, asshole.  
But, it doesn't matter. I'm not interested in your sparkling personality, and sure as fuck not your opinions.  
Pretty much just your ass.  
And, as Justin so intelligently pointed out, only once.

"Stay there. I'm going to take a shower."  
I can still smell Justin on me, and I refuse to share him with this guy.  
"No, don't _join_ me."  
I said to stay there, didn't I? Gonna have to start paying attention, fucker.  
"I'll be out in a minute. Get comfortable."

"…Not too comfortable. And don't steal anything."  
I better make this quick.

x

I'll pretend I didn't have the fleeting moment of hoping I'd walk out of the bathroom and see the guy picking up the TV or something, so I'd have an excuse to kick him out.

Seems all he's picked up is his cock. And now…  
Oh, look Ma… no hands.  
Hmmm… not bad.

See? I'm into this.

Great, another idiot who tries to kiss me.  
Again, really gonna have to start paying attention.  
I should have thought Justin made the difference between him and any trick patently obvious.  
Good body, though. I can zone out on the rest.  
Already have.  
He's zeroed in on my dick. That's more like it. Wait, _nuh uh_.  
"Don't do that."  
Seriously? Did I say that?  
"On to the main event."  
I am always up for being sucked off.  
But… not tonight. I mean, I'm _up_, but I don't want it.  
C'mon. After possibly the best blow job of my life, it'd be like going from Dom Perignon to flat ginger ale. Or a brilliantly marketed but still putrid Pool Boy.

But Justin…  
Oh my fucking God. He was _amazing_.  
His oral skills have always been unmatched, but this time…  
I think he was making up for those months he wasn't here, wasn't blowing me. All that time he was going down on…

Ugh. Don't think about it. Don't fucking think about it.  
I do, just for a second, and it makes me grip the trick's shoulder, bruising, and shove him down hard to the bed.  
He takes it as a sign of my uncontrollable lust for him. Whatever.  
It will help perpetuate my legacy.

I think Justin was also trying to make a point that no matter how many tricks I schedule in, none can make me feel as good as he can, and does.  
Trust me. I'm aware.  
I know he understands why the tricks. Because it's too easy for me to get caught up in having him back.  
The other night at Babylon, I danced with him all night long. Just him.  
I don't think there was a moment I wasn't touching some part of him.  
We went to the backroom and I fucked him. Just him. Brought him back here and fucked him again.  
Fuck, thinking about Justin has made me start slamming into this guy harder.  
Again, he takes it as a compliment.  
My body feels off. My hips and my dick keep trying to find their "Justin rhythm," but this isn't him and the fit is wrong.

This ass fits me well enough, though. Tight enough. Hot _enough_.  
And he's making so much noise, I'm pretty sure _he's_ into it.  
Oh yeah. His orgasm hits and he gets twice as loud.  
I just keep fucking him. My orgasm close, I remember the almost overpowering one I had earlier.  
Think of soft blond hair tickling my thighs, and there I go…  
I mean, _come_…  
Hard.

Yeah, sure. It's _all _you, trick #5,347... (give or take).  
He makes a big show, holding up his hand so I can see his load dripping down his arm.  
Huh.  
Never trust a man with clear cum.

I toss the condom and I'm across the room, sliding the door open, before he can even get his pants on.  
On his way out, the trick spouts the usual "When can we do this again?" shit.  
Last chance, asshole. Fucking pay attention to this.

x

Glass of Beam, I'm turning the lights off, and what the hell. I pick up my phone and dial.

"Hey," he greets me, voice almost as warm and smooth as he feels inside.

"Hey."

"How was your eleven o' clock?"

"Came and went."

"Yeah, but how was he? He's your type, you know."

I climb into bed. Head on my pillow and legs stretched over his side. "Was he? I don't remember."

"Brian, he's been gone, what? Fifteen minutes?"

"So?"

"Nothing." He's laughing, and I can just picture him shaking his head. Then he stops laughing but keeps his voice light. "Did he try to get himself invited back?"

"Don't they all?"

"And?"

I stay silent. He's fishing for reassurances, and I don't give those.

"Never mind."

"I told him only one invitation to _come _and _stay_ had ever been given, and it sure as fuck wasn't to him."

Fuck. I think I just defeated my own purpose of the blatant tricking by turning into a sappy shit on the phone. I can hear him biting his lip.

"That one invitation… did you ever regret giving it?"

He feels guilty. Because he _didn't_ stay. But I don't want him to feel guilty…

…I just want him to stay.

"Constantly," I deadpan. "But… I've never taken it back."

Now I can fucking hear him smile.

"Go to sleep, Sunshine."

"Okay. But I sleep better with you. I mean, I sleep better _at the loft_. Daph's sofa bed's not really the most comfortable."

"You poor thing."

"It might affect my work performance or something. You wouldn't want that."

"Your _performance _has been… more than satisfactory, Taylor."

"Pleasing you is very important to me, Mr. Kinney. So, do you think you might have any overnight room in your schedule coming up?"

"Hmm, perhaps." Fuck yes. I wonder if he can hear _me_ smile. Or if he knows I started lightly stroking my cock when he said that about sleeping better with me. Not trying to get off. Just finding my Justin rhythm again. "I'll see what I can do."

"Night, Brian."

"Goodnight."


End file.
